


Freefall

by Taste_is_Sweet



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bingo, Community: hc_bingo, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Pining Rodney McKay, Psychosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 01:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was just mud, after all. And after the opportunistic parasite that nearly killed Rodney, Carson was very, very careful about making sure no one was sick before letting them go on missions. So everyone on Team Sheppard was healthy. And it was just mud. Just like Ronon said when Teyla was grimacing about her hair: a little mud never killed anyone.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freefall

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to [SqueakyofLight](http://squeakyoflight.livejournal.com/) for the beta. :D
> 
> This is for the 'Body Image Issues' prompt for my [HC_Bingo](http://hc_bingo.livejournal.com/) [card (which is here).](http://taste-is-sweet.livejournal.com/59296.html)

In retrospect, it obviously started with the mud.

Specifically, the mud that Teyla slipped into, as opposed to the mud everywhere else, since Rodney's team had naturally arrived on Planet Slimepit right at the end of their rainy season. So by the time Teyla's uncharacteristic gracelessness dropped her ass-first into the giant mud pit, they'd already been splattered with an hour's worth of quagmire and Rodney's feet squelched every time he moved. He'd honestly thought it'd be impossible to get more muddy, and then Teyla's foot slipped as they walked around the pit conveniently located right outside the entrance to the Ancient ruins.

Teyla came up sputtering and caked pretty much head-to-toe. Ronon took one look at her expression of affronted disgust and doubled over laughing. Teyla did look incredibly funny, with her face streaked and her hair a dripping mess and her clothing wet and squishing from her shoulders down. Rodney, however, valued his life too much to say anything.

Though he did move out of the way when Ronon, still chuckling, stepped forward to help John pull Teyla to her feet. 

"If I get muddy it'll damage my equipment," Rodney said, looking as innocent as possible. 

John shot him a look that said he knew exactly what Rodney was doing, but Rodney blinked guilelessly at him until John just rolled his eyes.

Rodney grinned to himself as soon as John's back was turned, but then suddenly Teyla cried out in pain and it wasn't funny anymore. 

"What? What is it? What happened?" Rodney rushed to the edge of the pit and dropped to his hands and knees to better reach for her. "Are you all right?"

"My foot slipped between two rocks. My ankle hurts," Teyla said.

"Damn it," John swore. "Teyla, can you move, or is your foot trapped?"

Teyla nodded, though her face was grey with pain. "I believe I can get out, with some help."

"I got it," Ronon said. He waded into the mud and scooped her into his arms. She cried out again as her hurt foot popped out of the muck.

Maybe it was already too late by the time the three of them had Teyla sitting on the bank, or maybe it would've made a difference if he'd been more belligerent about everyone using his antibacterial wipes to get the mud on their faces and hands. But they'd all been a lot more worried about Teyla than hygiene, so he hadn't argued much. 

It was just mud, after all. And after the opportunistic parasite that nearly killed him, Carson was very, very careful about making sure no one was sick before letting them go on missions. So everyone on Team Sheppard was healthy. And it was just mud. Just like Ronon said when Teyla was grimacing about her hair: a little mud never killed anyone.

* * *

The supposedly Ancient ruins had turned out to be a long-abandoned cloth weaving factory circa whatever industrial revolution the last Wraith culling had derailed, though at least it was a dry place to wait while Ronon kindly slogged off to the gate to get a ride home. 

Teyla sat against a rusting loom with her bare foot nestled in an icepack and propped on Rodney's knapsack. At first Rodney and John tried to distract her, but even stuffed to the gills with Tylenol she was in too much pain to talk. So Rodney worked on one of the many, many problems in Atlantis waiting for his attention and tried not to ask if she was okay every two minutes. 

John shucked off his muddy tac vest and tee-shirt and took a nap, and Rodney tried not to be too obvious in his appreciation of John in his tee-shirt. Especially not the strip of skin at his waist where John's shirt rode up.

Teyla tried not to be too obvious that she'd noticed Rodney appreciating John, though Rodney could have done without the fond smiles and sympathetic glances. He'd spent five and a half years already trying to get over his crush on the military commander; if he hadn't managed it by now Rodney knew he never would. He'd gotten used to it, like missing his cat or his unrequited---but respectful--lust for Colonel Carter, or longing for the Nobel Prize he'd never get because all his discoveries were classified. Most of the time he didn't even want John at all, anymore. Well, some of the time, definitely.

John rubbed his nose and opened his eyes, unfortunately right before Rodney could look away. "What?"

"Nothing!" Rodney said, too quickly. "Nothing at all. Oh, hey--I think I hear a jumper!" Rodney leapt to his feet and ran out of the building.

The jumper didn't actually arrive for another ten minutes, but nobody said anything.

* * *

Of course they did everything they were supposed to do after missions, especially the ones that ended in disgusting mud pits and personal injury. Carson was the Chief of Medicine again and as reassuringly thorough as always, though Rodney could've done without the decontamination shower and giving up all those vials of blood. Teyla had a broken ankle unfortunately, but Carson was cheerfully insistent that she'd be stumping around in a walking cast in no time. Rodney, John and Ronon wanted to stay and keep her company, but Carson said she'd be able to leave more quickly without them being in the way. He shooed them out with his standard warning about coming back if anything 'felt off' and he said he'd contact them if the blood tests were positive for anything. Rodney had heard it so many times he barely listened.

Even after the shower and pokes and prods they had time to change before dinner, and Rodney had stopped wondering a few years ago why the people he spent almost every day with would still want to share meals with him--or vice-versa--or why he looked forward to it so much. Ronon entertained them with his personal version of Teyla's mudslide, replete with sound effects and facial expressions, which somehow became a lot more slapstick without Teyla there to defend herself.

John laughed so hard he was doing his awful braying thing. Rodney chuckled a little guiltily, but he'd read his email before coming to the mess and now he didn't feel much like laughing. He thought he'd kept it hidden, though, right up until Ronon kicked him under the table.

"Ow!" Rodney glared at him. "What was that for?"

"You look like a bug crawled into your ass and died," Ronon said. He took a large mouthful of their current local rice-substitute and talked around it. "What's your problem?"

"Nothing crawled _up_ my ass, thank you very much," Rodney sniffed, though he was sure the effect was ruined by the blush he could feel like boiling water up to his hairline. "I just got an email from Jennifer, that's all. It made me…" He shrugged. He didn't know what he was feeling well enough to articulate it.

"She okay?" John asked completely seriously, and that was one of the many, many reasons for Rodney's enduring crush right there: John had never liked Jennifer much even before she and Rodney became an item, but John worried about her anyway.

"Oh yeah, she's fine." Rodney waved a hand, studiously choosing his next bite of dinner. "She's great, in fact. She told me all about her new boyfriend. He's a pediatrician. They're already talking about getting married and having kids." He hadn't meant to sound so bitter about it.

"That was fast," Ronon said, casually nailing one of the things Rodney hadn't even known was bothering him.

John nodded. "We've only been back in Pegasus three months."

"Yeah, well." Rodney stabbed the next chunk of stew with more viciousness than it deserved. "I obviously couldn't give her what she wanted, so she found someone who did. End of story."

Ronon grunted and forked up more of his own meal. "Too bad."

"That's rough, buddy," John said. He looked appropriately sympathetic, just like every other time that Rodney had blown it with another smart, beautiful and well-endowed woman. But there was something about the way John's eyes instantly flicked back to his own not desperately interesting meal that made Rodney wonder if John actually meant it.

Rodney gave himself a mental shrug and scooped up the last of his meal. John had every right to be thrilled that he wouldn't have to deal with Jennifer 'Play-With-Your-Insides' Keller anymore, or Rodney pining over a long-distance relationship. Not that the bizarre and convoluted machinations of Sheppard's mind were any of Rodney's business, no matter how often Rodney might have wished otherwise. Rodney just appreciated having friends who actually gave a damn about what happened to him.

"She was bad for you." Ronon said it like it was self-evident. "You always acted stupid around her. And when you had that parasite in your head she would've let you die."

"Yeah," John said darkly. "If it wasn't for your sister, you wouldn't be here." He shook his head, glowering like he was still angry. "I still can't believe she was willing to do that."

"She, ah, was doing what she thought was best for me," Rodney said, surprised that the conversation had veered into parasite territory. He wasn't sure why he was defending Jennifer either, other than that it felt disloyal not to. But even he could hear how his words lacked conviction.

"She was doing what she thought was best for _herself,_ " John snapped. "She was more scared of the Wraith than of losing you." He glared at his plate like the remains of his stew pissed him off. "She didn't deserve you."

"John's right," Ronon said blandly while Rodney was scooping his jaw off the floor.

"Yes, thank you. You made your opinion on that subject abundantly clear," Rodney muttered. "I, uh, appreciate you caring about me," he said to them both, then reviewed the sentence in his head and winced. "I mean, you caring whether I live or die. I appreciate that."

John just looked puzzled. "Of course I care about you. You're my friend."

"Oh, well, yes, of course. I knew that," Rodney said quickly. "I just meant, well, thank you. And um, likewise."

"Don't worry, Rodney," John said. He grinned as he slid his chair back and stood up, holding his tray. "I know you love me." 

He winked and left, far before Rodney could leash his hysterical thoughts long enough to say anything.

Ronon must have seen the blank shock on his face, because when he got up he clapped Rodney on the shoulder so hard he coughed. "Chill, Rodney. He was joking."

"Oh," Rodney said in a rush of relief that felt like it took every molecule of air out of his body. "Joking. Of course he was joking." He began stacking the used dishes on his tray, mostly as a way to avoid Ronon's eyes.

"Should'a seen your face, though." Ronon smirked and slapped Rodney on the shoulder again. "It was awesome." He grabbed his tray and strolled off, still chuckling.

"Awesome. Right," Rodney sighed. "That's exactly what I was thinking." He got up and bused his tray, trying to ignore his disappointment.

* * *

"Oh, wow," John said the next morning, sitting across from Rodney in the mess. "This is good! This is really, really good." Unlike Rodney, he didn't talk with his mouth full, so he took another bite quietly and closed his eyes in a blissful expression that seemed to open a blast furnace in Rodney's stomach.

"You need to try this," John said when he'd swallowed and opened his eyes again. He scooped some oatmeal with his spoon and shoved it at Rodney so fast that Rodney barely had time to open his mouth before he was suddenly eating John's _food_ and sharing John's _saliva_ , and both things were so planetary bodies distant from what Rodney had expected to be doing that morning that he choked down the orangey paste before he remembered to actually taste it.

As far as he could tell, though, it was exactly the same as it always was: a sad approximation of oatmeal.

"Isn't that _good?_ " John asked him. "I wonder what they added to it."

The colonel was looking fresh-faced and surprisingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed considering how early it was, and he was smiling with such unashamed delight at getting to eat the orange non-oatmeal that Rodney actually considered lying to him and agreeing that it was wonderful, just to make sure he didn't diminish John's happiness.

Except, it wasn't that he prided himself on honesty so much as that he really couldn't lie unless it involved life-or-death situations. So Rodney settled for sugarcoating the truth as much as possible, and he refused to dwell on how he was worrying about orange oatmeal, because it was for John. And John he was enjoying himself so much that Rodney was more than willing to allow this momentary fixation on porridge. 

Rodney was willing to allow John a lot of things.

So, "It's not really my thing, Colonel," he said, and that was probably the nicest thing he'd ever said about food to anybody.

Luckily, John was unperturbed by Rodney's confession. "You don't know what you're missing," he said, eating another enormous spoonful. "Hey, you know what?" he announced to the table at large, "I bet this would go great with those berries Parrish found on PXS-179. I'm going to see if they still have any." He glanced at the rest of his team as he stood. "Anybody else want anything?"

"More muffins," Ronon grunted. John gave him a nod and a grin and ambled off to rejoin the food line. 

Rodney looked at Teyla and Ronon, who were both eating the same oatmealish stuff. "Is it really that good?"

Ronon shrugged. "Tastes the same," he said.

Teyla raised her eyebrows. "It would probably be much improved with berries," she said, and Rodney was about to ask her why she was being diplomatic over breakfast cereal when John came back surprisingly quickly, carrying a new tray.

"I got you more coffee," John said as he put the tray down. He grinned at Rodney and slid a large silver mug across the table.

"Thank you," Rodney said, managing not to sound surprised. He couldn't help smiling back, until he realized it was going on way too long, and John wasn't looking away.

John had always looked away first. It was one of the things Rodney counted on, like the law of gravity. What John didn't see he wouldn't know about and Rodney could deny.

But John's smile just got bigger, instead of John looking away and letting them both go back to their normal lives. So this time Rodney took the initiative and dropped his gaze, drinking his gift-mug of coffee so fast he was sure he had a swath of scalded, peeling skin from his teeth to his stomach. "Things to do," he mumbled as he bounded out of his chair. "See you later." He was sure his mouth was pouring steam.

He heard John's easy, 'later,' behind him, but he made sure not to look back.

* * *

M5Y-4M7 was full of very friendly people, with lots of nice foodstuffs to trade. Rodney was bored out of his skull.

He was sure he'd gone white at the mention of 'harvest festival', though the Town Leader had apparently been politely oblivious to it, along with Doctor Corrigan's glee and Lt. Colonel Lorne's momentary flash of panic. John, on the other hand, had just given her a lazy smile and said, 'that sounds wonderful', and 'thank you so much', and 'I _love_ harvest festivals', and then the four of them were being dragged towards the fields of recently-harvested not-exactly-corn, where the locals were piling up wood for what looked like bonfires and hopefully not human sacrifices.

That was two hours ago, though, and now Rodney was almost wishing the locals really had been intent on sacrificing them to ensure a properly festive harvest, because at least the running for his life part would have given him something to do. Instead, his feet were sore from standing and he was getting chilled in the early evening air, and he was wondering when, exactly, the epic Harvest Poem the Town Leader was reciting would actually end so he could sit down and maybe have something to eat.

It might have been easier to wait if John hadn't been standing beside him, looking like he was going to burst into hysterical giggles any second.

John was normally more… _stoic_ than this, when it came to mind-crushing boredom--he was in the military, after all--but Rodney could understand the incipient hilarity. The Town Leader, for all her solemn dignity, was reciting a poem that sounded to Rodney like the Chaucerian equivalent of 'spring has sprung, the grass has riz'. Rodney had been trying to distract himself by wondering whether very young children wrote it. Maybe it'd been the Town Leader's kids. Maybe they were thrilled when Mommy said she would read it to everyone.

Still, it was too boring to be all that funny, so John's heroic struggles to keep from laughing seemed a little odd. But Rodney didn't complain when John finally gave up trying to stay still and attentive-looking and just grabbed Rodney by one of the straps on his tac vest and dragged him around the nearest bonfire, where they were out of sight of most of the villagers.

"'The food is sweet. We like to eat'," John quoted in a frantic whisper. He clapped his hands over his mouth, almost choking in his desperate attempt to stay silent.

Rodney couldn't help himself. His mouth quirked, and then he was sniggering like an eight year-old. "'Our work is done, we thank you, sun!'," he quoted back, and John squeaked out a muffled howl through his hands.

Concerned that someone would notice and be homicidally offended, Rodney took one of John's arms and pulled him upright. Rodney jerked his head to the side to tell John they should move away from the gathering. It meant he'd be forced to eat MREs instead of the feast they were promised, but he decided that even a few minutes away from the Town Leader's poetry was worth it. John nodded mutely then dropped his hands. They both start jogging back towards the town.

"Oh my God, that was stupid," John gasped when they were far enough away that they could slow to a walk. He was still chuckling, wiping tears from his eyes.

"It wasn't _that_ bad," Rodney said, but he grinned back anyway, because it was an awful poem and because it made John laugh. And John's smile was one of his rare genuine ones, and he never smiled like that often enough.

"It's still going on," John said. "God, poor Corrigan and Evan."

"I never thought I'd envy Teyla getting a broken ankle," Rodney said. He looked over his shoulder, but couldn't see anything beyond the bonfires. "I'm sure Corrigan is having gooey anthropological orgasms, which means Lorne's still stuck playing babysitter." Rodney never thought he'd feel sorry for Lorne, either.

But he didn't even think about suggesting they go back. The sunset had spread long licks of colors along the horizon, muted pinks and purples that looked both familiar and nothing like Earth. The air held hints of the winter to come, and smelled rich with the smoke from the fires.

It was all incredibly, amazingly beautiful, and Rodney couldn't think of a single person in two galaxies, in the entire universe, who he'd rather have there to share it with him.

"What?" John asked, his smile friendly and curious, and Rodney realized he's been grinning at him for a while.

"Nothing," he said, flicking his eyes away. He hoped he wasn't blushing, though his face felt hot. "The Pegasus galaxy is a really weird place, isn't it?"

"Yup," John agreed happily. He yanked up a stalk of grass from the side of the road, peeled off the outer leaves and put the plucked end in his mouth. "I love it out here."

John seemed to find that really funny, too. And Rodney let himself smile again, watching John laugh.

* * *

"Rodney," John said a day later, drumming on Rodney's lab table.

"What?" Rodney said, looking up with a small bit of annoyance. He did need to spare at least a modicum of attention to what he was doing, after all, which John seemed to be contentedly ignoring.

"You need a break," John said. _Slapslapslapslap_ went his palms on the top of the table. "You need a break, so you're going to come with me and have one." And he grinned, like this was the best idea ever and there was no way Rodney could ever possibly disagree with him.

Rodney blinked at him which was mostly just to buy himself time, since his automatic response had been to say 'sure' and shut his computer down, even though he had no clue where John wanted to take him. "Don't you have work to do?" he asked instead, injecting his voice with what he hoped was the right amount of put-upon irritation. "Reports to write, or Marines to terrorize or something? Shouldn't Ronon be kicking your ass right now?"

John just laughed. "Naw," he said. "Ronon already kicked my ass, and I finished my reports." 

"Already?" Rodney said in surprise.

"Yup." John yawned suddenly, but his grin remained undiminished when his mouth closed.

"Are you all right?" Rodney asked, because the yawn made him notice John's face. John looked fine, mostly, but there were deep shadows under his eyes. 

"What?" John blinked confusedly for a moment. "Oh, the yawn. I'm just a little tired," he explained. "I couldn't sleep last night." He yawned again as if in emphasis, and then naturally Rodney had to yawn too. "I got this great idea for the Puddle Jumpers, and just had to get it down, you know?"

Rodney nodded because yes, he certainly knew what it was like to have the sort of inspiration that wouldn't let you sleep until it was followed through to a conclusion. He was oddly warmed to think that they might have that in common. "What idea?" he asked, genuinely curious.

John's smile turned sly. "How about you come with me, and I'll tell you?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. That is so incredibly juvenile--"

John suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Rodney by the wrist, all but yanking him off the stool. "Team briefing!" he called to the room at large, though most of them barely spared a glance before going back to work.

"Sheppard!" Rodney hissed, trying to work his wrist out of John's grip. His heart was hammering with a drum solo of its own at John touching him this much, but he didn't want John to know that.

"No, I'm not going to tell you where we're going," John said. He moved his hand to get a better grip on Rodney's wrist. Rodney was glad there was no one in the corridor to see them. "But you're totally going to thank me for this, McKay," he added. "You have no idea how much you're going to thank me."

"Oh, I might," Rodney said, but John just laughed.

* * *

"Wait," Rodney said, incredulous, "you brought me all the way to the other side of the city to play _catch?_

"Yup," John said, looking inordinately pleased with himself. He jerked his chin over at the bag that was next to the door of the large room, which meant that John must've put more effort into planning this than Rodney had thought. Rodney tried not to read anything into that. "Pick a glove and let's get cracking."

"'Get cracking'?" Rodney repeated, but he dutifully went over to the bag with John following, and then grabbed one of the two baseball mitts inside it. Rodney wondered if they both belonged to John.

"Good choice," John said, grabbing up the other mitt and a softball. He turned and trotted over to the far end of the room, and Rodney indulged himself with a nice admiration of John's ass before John turned and lobbed the ball at him so fast that Rodney yelped and immediately raised his left hand to protect his head. The ball smacked into his glove like John had planned it.

"Awesome reflexes, Rodney!" John crowed. John thumped his glove with his right fist and lifted it, going into a crouch. "Your turn!"

"What the hell was that? You could have killed me!" Rodney shouted. 

John dropped his hand and stood up straight, all trace of humor gone. "Rodney, I've gone on field missions with you for almost six years. If I didn't think you could've caught that ball, I never would've thrown it."

"Oh," Rodney said. Now he was embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have doubted you."

"No problem," John said, all grins again. He punched his mitt then held his gloved hand up, palm out. "Your turn."

* * *

It was, despite the greater-than-normal chance of permanent head injury, a lot more fun than Rodney had expected. His only real memory of playing catch as a child was maybe two sessions with his sullen and critical father, and one year of little league where his greatest accomplishment was surviving his teammates. An adult's understanding of the truth behind 'keep your eye on the ball' apparently went a long way, however, and Rodney was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to catch the ball and throw it back. They were just playing straight-forward, back-and-forth catch, but the particular smack the ball made every time it hit the worn leather was surprisingly satisfying.

They didn't talk much, mostly because of the size of the room, but that didn't matter. John's simple joy at using his body, at making the ball do what he wanted, was infectious, and the constant smack-toss-smack rhythm of ball to air to glove was relaxing. For the first time, Rodney could understand why people did this.

The sunlight pouring in through the large, high windows had the orange tinge of late afternoon when John checked his watch, but Rodney was still unexpectedly disappointed when John jogged back to Rodney and pulled his glove off and dropped it and the ball into the bag. 

"We'd better be getting back," John said.

Rodney checked his own watch, and was astonished to realize they've been playing for over an hour. He nodded and dropped his glove into the equipment bag, and John hefted it over one shoulder as they walked out of the room.

"See?" John asked him, smiling. His eyes were brilliant green in the slant of light. "That was fun, wasn't it? And you're glad you came out here."

"Yes," Rodney said seriously. He was very glad. "That was fun. Thank you."

"Told you you'd thank me," John said. And then he leaned over and kissed him.

It wasn't anything, really: Just a chaste, dry brush of lips against Rodney's temple. But for a moment it was like a baseball to the head and Rodney could only stand there, dazed with shock.

John pulled back, still smiling. "See you later, Rodney," he said, and sauntered out of the room.

* * *

Unfortunately, 'later' didn't happen for two more days.

Rodney's team wasn't going anywhere until Teyla's ankle healed, but that didn't mean the rest of them got a vacation. Ronon was apparently having a lovely time scampering all over Pegasus and decimating Wraith with the Marines; John was doing his administrative duties with a will that was frankly frightening; and Rodney got to do some actual work for a change. At least he could whenever Woolsey didn't decide to pimp him out to whichever off-world team whined the loudest for him.

…And then manage to get him stuck on a pollen-choked, citrus-infested and sunlight-irradiated hellhole for two days when the newest Fumbles McStupid--who was going back to Earth at the earliest opportunity--managed to break the damn DHD.

Rodney was too busy squinting at DHD tech, sneezing, itching and cursing the galaxy in general and then too stoned on antihistamines, to think anything about how John came to the infirmary with Teyla and Ronon to rib him mercilessly, but then took a rain check on dinner with them.

Rodney didn't think about it at all, honestly, not even much later when it was after midnight and he was in his quarters and just about blissfully asleep, and John called him on his radio and scared the living hell out of him.

Rodney dragged the earpiece for his radio out from under his pillow and blearily jammed it into his ear. "Sheppard?" he croaked. "You'd better be dying."

John's laugh crackled over the radio, echoed by a loud clattering and hissing behind him. "Sorry to disappoint you." It sounded like he was speaking very loudly. "I'm fine. I just wanted you to come up here and see this. It's amazing."

"Up where? Is it raining?" Rodney realized that he could hear the same clatter/hiss nearby, and got up and staggered to his balcony. It was definitely raining, though that was an inadequate description for the biblical-level deluge that was going on outside his window.

"Yeah," John said. Apparently this delighted him. "It's unbelievable. You got to come see this."

Rodney squinted at his watch. "It's almost one in the morning," he said. "And wet and cold. I don't want to get wet and cold at one in the morning."

"You won't," John said. "It's not cold at all. Have you ever been anywhere on Earth where the rain was warm? It's like that. Come on, you _have_ to check this out."

"I have to sleep," Rodney said. "What if I get struck by lightning?" He was painfully aware that he still wasn't saying, 'no'.

"You won't get struck by lightning, Rodney," John said.

Rodney might've thought something like, _I already have been_ , but he didn't use ridiculous metaphors. "Fine," he sighed. "I'll come out and get pneumonia. I hope you appreciate what I do for you."

"Always," John said, like he really meant it.

* * *

Rodney went in bare feet with a raincoat on over his tee-shirt and pajama bottoms, because it was the middle of the night and according to his life signs detector John was very far away from any of the habituated areas so what the hell. Rodney felt kind of like a little kid about to go outside to make mud pies; not that he'd ever done that because mud was full of germs and his parents would never have let him.

The doors to the very far balcony swished open, and there was John in all his sopping glory, wearing nothing but board shorts and standing with his face tilted up and his arms open to the endless stream of rain.

"I'm here!" Rodney yelled so John could hear him. "You didn't tell me this was going to be a standing-room only pool party, or I would've brought a wetsuit."

John spun around. "Rodney!" His smile was huge. His hair was absolutely flat for once, and there were rivulets of water running over his face and arms and chest and everywhere. Rodney didn't think they could've gotten any wetter standing naked in a shower.

 _Naked in a shower_ wasn't the best thought to be having with John in front of him wearing very little and all wet and smiling like that. "How long have you been out here?" Rodney asked, because this was one of those rare occasions when talking was better than thinking.

"I don't know," John said. "An hour, maybe? He splashed over to Rodney, who was already soaked up to his knees despite the raincoat and the fact he was still standing under the awning over the doorway. The rain really was pleasantly warm. "I heard the rain start and I had to come outside."

"I can see that," Rodney said. His voice was the driest part of him. "Do you think you've communed with the elements for long enough now? Because I'd really love to go inside and go back to bed."

"Sure. In a bit," John said. "You need to really experience this, first." He reached for Rodney's jacket hood and Rodney sighed gustily and rolled his eyes but gave up his jacket with just a token protest. He knew John wouldn't be happy until Rodney was just as wet as he was though, and finally he just gave in completely and let John tug him out into the rain.

John's grin was dazzling in the overhead lights shining through the water, but if anything the shadows under his eyes were more pronounced now than they'd been the last time Rodney had seen him. Maybe his cheeks looked a little more hollow as well. It was difficult to tell for sure in the rain.

"Are you all right? You look terrible," Rodney said, though the truth was pretty much the opposite. Except for the apparent exhaustion, John was practically glowing. 

"I'm fine," John said. "I'm totally fine. Come on." He tugged a little more and Rodney decided to take John's word for it and just trundled after him. They finally stopped at the rail, where Rodney could look down and see the rain lashing the ocean.

Rodney had been soaked practically the first second out from under the awning, but the water actually felt good, like one of the pounding showers he took when his back was bothering him. Even wearing the sopping tee-shirt and pajama pants wasn't too bad. And John had cleverly chosen a balcony near a transporter, so when they went back inside Rodney wouldn't even be uncomfortable for very long.

He wished he'd thought of the board shorts, though. John looked completely natural out there in the deluge, like some kind of elemental or water creature, relaxed and happy in a way Rodney had rarely seen. John had his back to the railing with his eyes closed and his face tilted up again, letting the rain wash over him. He looked bedraggled and transcendent and like the best thing Rodney had ever seen.

"John," Rodney said, but when John opened his eyes Rodney didn't know what he wanted to tell him. "I…" He stopped, helplessly fixed by John's gaze.

"I'm right here," John said, and turned so that they were facing each other completely. And then John cupped Rodney's face in his rain-warmed hands and kissed him.

It was far from the best kiss Rodney had ever had--their lips were too wet to keep from sliding and it was hard to breathe through his nose with all the water--but it was the one he'd wanted the most and had been sure would never happen. And when it got too slippery and messy and ridiculous and John pulled away and started laughing, Rodney laughed too, and he wasn't sure he'd ever been this happy.

"Let's go inside," John said. His voice was heavy with promise.

"Oh, _now_ we can go inside, eh? Now that I'm soaked to the skin," Rodney said. But he was smiling way too much to sell the grousing, and he just ignored it when John kicked water at him all the way back to the door.

He left his raincoat on the balcony, floating serenely under the awning.

* * *

Rodney woke up because John was shaking him.

"What?" Rodney mumbled, grimacing and rubbing his eyes. Outside his window it was barely dawn, far too early to be awake considering how little sleep either of them had had the night before. He smiled sleepily at John then patted the bed next to him. "Sleep. Come here and sleep."

John shook his head. He was back in his dried board shorts, sitting cross-legged at the end of Rodney's bed. He was happy, but in the rising daylight Rodney realized that what he'd thought he'd seen the night before was absolutely true: John looked exhausted. Not only that, but he'd lost weight. Not very much, but it was obvious now around his neck and face.

Rodney sat up. "John, is something wrong? You look sick."

"I'm fine," John said. He smiled like it wasn't even a lie. "I'm glad you're awake. I want to show you something."

"No," Rodney said on reflex. He was looking around at his bed, realizing that he was the only one who'd spent the night in it. "Didn't you sleep at all?"

"I don't need to sleep anymore." John said it the way Rodney had heard people say things like, _I don't watch 'Wormhole Extreme'_ , or, _I gave up pastry for Lent._ "Come on." He slid off the chair and stood, and if Rodney noticed the tiny stagger John apparently didn't. "You have to see this before the others get up and spoil it."

"Spoil what?" Rodney demanded. "And what do you mean, 'you don't need to sleep anymore'? Everyone needs to sleep!"

"Come on, Rodney--we don't have all morning," John said over his shoulder. He went through the doors to Rodney's balcony while Rodney was scrambling out of the bed, sleepiness and shock and _I don't need to sleep anymore_ tumbling like anvils through his head and slowing him down. "John," he said as the balcony doors slid open. Rodney was just in his boxers, but his balcony was largely private and he was already uneasy enough that he didn't want to take the time to put on clothes. "John, I really think--Oh my God!"

John looked over his shoulder at him from his perch on the second-highest rung of the balcony. He grinned. "Watch this."

"No! NO!" Rodney lunged forward and desperately grabbed John's nearer arm with both hands, just as John was swinging his leg over the upper railing. Rodney yanked John back as hard as he could. He was sure that even after close to six years of forced combat training he normally couldn't have pulled John down, but John wasn't normal anything at the moment and he slipped off the railing onto the deck with a surprised yelp. And then Rodney had to make sure they didn't get injured crashing to the floor when John didn't have the strength to catch himself.

"What the hell is your problem?" John demanded, like _Rodney_ had been the one about to do something fatally stupid. He tried to jerk his arm out of Rodney's grasp but Rodney refused to let go of him.

"You were about to go over the balcony!" Rodney said. " _You were going over the balcony!_ " he repeated, because the absolute, final consequences of that were truly registering. Rodney's hands trembled, still wrapped around John's arm.

"Yes, Rodney, I was going over the balcony." John made it sound like Rodney had freaked out over an ordinary, everyday thing, like John cutting off his RC car during a race. "That's kind of a prerequisite for flying." He jerked his arm again. "Will you let go of me already?"

"No," Rodney said. He had to swallow because his mouth felt like sand. "Flying?" he repeated stupidly.

"Yeah. Of course, flying." John still looked pissed-off. "That's what I wanted to show you."

"What?" Rodney stared at him. He was meant to be a genius, but he felt like his mind was just whirring frantically and coming up with nothing, nothing, nothing. "What are--"

"Come on!" John snapped. "What did you think my wings were for? Can't you see them?" His eyes widened in sudden surprise, and then just like that his expression changed to stunned disappointment. "You can't see them either, can you?"

Rodney licked his lips. "No, John, I can't," he said, hating how John looked so heartbroken. "Look. This is…" He had to take a breath; it felt like his heart was tap-dancing on his lungs. "You're…not well, okay? Something's happened and you're…you're not entirely yourself right now, and I really think we should go to the infirmary."

For a second John looked absolutely betrayed, and then his face hardened like stone. " _That's_ what you think this is? That there's something wrong with me?" This time he yanked hard enough that he was able to pull his arm out of Rodney's death grip. His fists were trembling just like Rodney's, but Rodney was sure it was in anger. "I was so damn sure you could see them. That you, out of everybody else, you'd know--" John bit back whatever else he was going to say. He shook his head, jaw clenched. "I guess last night didn't mean much, huh."

John began struggling to his feet, but Rodney scrambled forward and grabbed him again. "Jesus Christ, Rodney!" John snarled. "Let go of me!"

"Wait! Wait! Don't go!" Rodney said, mind whirling. "Please don't go. Just wait a second. Just one second, please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I can't see your wings." He managed to choke back the burst of hysterical laughter. This wasn't funny. There was nothing funny about this at all; just fear and the pathetic, tragic irony. "I wish I could. But you're wrong. Last night--last night meant _everything._ You have no idea," he went on when John just looked at him, his green eyes as cold as the endless sea. "You have no idea how much I wanted that. How much I've wanted _you_. God, John, please…" Rodney had to stop and blink until his jaw stopped aching. "Please," he said again. His hands were hurting. He was probably giving John bruises from holding his arm so tightly. "Please, if you…if you care about me at all, if last night meant anything to you…then please, please come back inside with me."

"Why are you crying?" John asked him.

"Because I'm terrified," Rodney said. "I'm terrified of losing you." Not, he'd realized, that he ever had John in the first place. Last night was as much an illusion as John's wings. He blinked again and swiped quickly at his eyes with one hand, keeping the other clutching John. "And if you step off the balcony, I will lose you. You will _die,_ John," Rodney said. "If you've ever trusted me about anything, ever, then please believe me when I tell you that you'll die if you go off that balcony.

"I love you," Rodney said. "Please come inside."

John stared at him. "You're in love with me?"

Rodney nodded because it was too hard to speak.

John's eyes narrowed. "Then why can't you see my wings?"

"I want to," Rodney said again. "I want to. I'm sorry I can't. But will you come inside? Please?"

John stared at him for a moment longer, like he was trying to make up his mind. Then, "Yeah, sure," he sighed at last. He looked so disappointed that Rodney felt guilty despite the depth of his relief.

Rodney had to let go of John so they could climb to their feet, but he hovered close enough to stop him if he changed his mind. But John just gathered his legs under him and stood, except his knees buckled as soon as he was upright.

"Whoa!" Rodney grabbed John yet again. "What's the matter?" he demanded. "You were fine last night." Actually John had been insane last night, Rodney now understood. But he hadn't needed help to stand.

"I'm kind of hungry," John said with typically brutal understatement. "I can't eat too much, or my wings won't support my weight."

Rodney opened his mouth, realized he was gaping and shut it again. "Oh," he said, fighting for calm. "When's the last time you ate anything?"

John shrugged as best he could with his arms trapped. "Couple days ago."

Rodney closed his eyes for the space of a long breath. Now John's absence at dinner the evening Rodney finally made it back took on horrible significance. A couple of days ago was when he'd been trapped on that stupid planet and wasn't in Atlantis to notice John starving himself.

Rodney was fairly certain he would've noticed.

"How did you think you'd have enough strength to fly if you didn't eat anything?" It was the wrong thing to say--of course it was the wrong thing to say; Rodney was the king of the worst statements at the worst possible moment--but to Rodney's shock John didn't get any angrier. Instead he looked surprised, like Rodney had said something profound he'd never thought of before. 

"Huh," John said. "Yeah, that's a good point. Thanks, Rodney." And then he was beaming at him again, like he had just a few minutes before in Rodney's quarters, or last night in the rain, or all the other times lately he'd been so beautifully happy that Rodney had been stupid enough to think were real, and even maybe because of him. Now it only looked glitteringly unbalanced. 

Rodney blinked. "You're welcome," he said, thinking quickly. "So, since I made such a good point, how about we go inside and get dressed, and then go have breakfast? You can--you can show me your wings afterward," he added when John looked uncertain, because sometimes he could lie when it was a matter of life and death. And he could live with the guilt when saying that seemed to make John light up inside.

"Cool," John said. He took a wobbly step back, but seemed steady enough for Rodney to let go of him. There were already bruises darkening on his arms. 

John finally went back through the balcony doors into Rodney's quarters. Rodney locked the doors behind them. 

Rodney grabbed the nearest pair of mostly-clean pants and yanked them on, then walked towards his closet. "Hey," he said as casually as his thrumming adrenaline would allow, "why don't I get you one of my tee-shirts, so you don't have to go back to your place first?"

"Sure, that'd be fine, thanks," John said. He sat on Rodney's bed, looking like just walking there had exhausted him.

"Great," Rodney said woodenly. As he passed his bed he made sure John wasn't looking, and then reached under the pillow for his radio. He slipped it into his ear, already tapping it on. He picked one of his shirts at random and carried it back to John, keying in the frequency for the infirmary with his free hand.

He waited until John was pulling the shirt over his head before he called in the medical emergency to his quarters. And then he tackled John onto the bed and held him there.

And Rodney told himself he could live with that guilt, too: of the look of abject horror in John's eyes when he realized that Rodney had lied to him. Rodney told himself he could live with anything, even John hating him, as long as John would be all right.

* * *

"A virus," Carson said, looking grave and troubled like he usually did when anyone got sick without him knowing about it. "And one that moves bloody fast once it's out of its incubation period. Your blood tests were perfectly normal, even John's."

"Yeah," Rodney said roughly, remembering John's 'I know you love me' from the first evening they were back, his enthusiasm over breakfast the next morning. It seemed so obvious now: the emerging symptoms of a disaster in the making. Then Carson's words really registered and Rodney snapped his head up to look at him. "Is it contagious? Do I have it?" He glanced at Teyla and Ronon who were standing beside him. "Do we all have it?"

"Oh dear," murmured Woosley, who was next to Carson. "Does the city need to be quarantined?"

"Naw," Ronon said, always the gruffly optimistic one. "We would'a gone crazy by now."

"Ronon's right," Carson said to Rodney's immediate relief. "The, ah, Iratus bug retrovirus from a few years ago has unfortunately made the Colonel more susceptible to pathogens from this galaxy."

"Of course it has." Rodney rubbed his hand over his face. "But, you can fix this, right? He's going to be okay?"

"I believe so," Carson said. "So far it seems our anti-virals are working, but we had to put him into a medical coma, to help his brain heal. We won't know for sure if any of the damage is permanent until the virus is gone."

"Oh, God," Rodney said. "You're saying that he could be…that this, it won't go away? He might be crazy forever?"

"Rodney, Carson did not say that," Teyla said. "There is no reason to fear the worst yet."

"I agree," Woolsey put in. "But if he is…different," he continued, apparently struggling with an appropriately positive adjective, "there might be a problem keeping him in his position."

Rodney blurted a near-hysterical laugh. "I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure that _the guy in charge of the military_ taking the last exit to crazyville would be a problem!"

"Right now, all that matters is that John's going to survive," Carson snapped at him. "That's what you should be concentrating on--not what might or might not happen afterwards!"

"Right," Rodney said, chastised. "Sorry." But all Rodney could think of was John spending the rest of his life like this: delusional and manic and exiled from the one place in the world where he'd thrived, where he'd excelled as a leader over and over again. 

The one place where he'd been happy.

* * *

It took two more days before Carson could tell them for certain that the virus was almost eradicated from John's system, and then another day after that before he could tell them the Ancient scanner had shown no sign of irregular brain function. John was really going to be okay.

Rodney thanked Carson then went to one of the farthest balconies in the city. Then he sat down with his back against the wall and his hands over his face, and just let himself shake in relief until he felt reasonably certain that he wouldn't embarrass himself in front of anyone.

He'd gone to the same balcony where he and John had kissed in the rain. His jacket was where he'd left it, crumpled and forlorn and still damp from the humid sea air.

Before he went back inside, Rodney pitched it over the rail.

* * *

"Whoa," John said quietly. It was the first he'd seen his quarters in six days, and he looked around blinking while Rodney probably stood too close and tried not to wring his hands. "Did I do this?"

"Yes. Except for those." Rodney jerked his chin at the small pile of John's scribbled non-equations. "I, uh, tided them a little. But the rest of the place was this clean already."

"Jesus." John ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes were very big. "I mean, I remember thinking I needed to do some straightening, but…" He looked around again, at the perfectly straight and alphabetized books and the meticulously organized desk and the gleaming everything else. "I didn't remember it being like this." He went over to his desk and picked up the short stack of papers, leafing through them. "I had this great idea to improve the Jumper shields..." He winced. "None of these make any sense."

"The, ah, basic physics is sound," Rodney said, hating how disgusted John looked with the scrawled equations. He wished now that he'd thought to just get rid of them, but it hadn't even occurred to him to take something out of John's room.

"Yeah," John snorted. "It's just all the rest of it." He sighed and put the papers back on his desk, face-down like he was trying to hide them. "I don't think I've thanked you for saving my life yet." His lips moved almost like a smile. "Normally I'm not the one who needs rescuing from himself."

Rodney almost managed to smile back. "Please remember you said that the next time you feel the need to go on a suicide mission."

He'd hoped John would reply with something sarcastic and then maybe things could be normal again; but John's mouth just crooked like he knew how he was supposed to respond, but didn't have the heart for it.

He took a breath. "Look, Rodney--"

"I'm sorry!" Rodney blurted before John could finish, because telling someone to look when there was nothing to look at always, always meant that things were about to go to hell. "I know I...took advantage of you in your fragile state and I should've realized something was wrong before you kissed me." He grimaced. "I should've realized something was wrong _when_ you kissed me. Definitely the second time. But…"

"Rodney, stop," John said. He looked a little bug-eyed.

Rodney put up his hand, shaking his head. "No. No, no, no, no. Let me finish." He took a breath but plowed on when John opened his mouth. "But the thing is, you were _happy._ Happier than I'd seen you in…I don't know. Probably forever. Because it wasn't real, was it? It was a virus making you manic and I didn't even notice because you were happy, and--"

"Rodney!" John said.

"Shut up, I'm apologizing," Rodney snapped. "And I'm…" He gritted his teeth and went on. "I've been in love with you for nearly six years. And I was so thrilled that you loved me back that it never even occurred to me that it might not be real, even though it couldn't be." He straightened his shoulders out of his slouch and lifted his chin, trying to be brave. "I just hope that I haven't ruined our friendship."

John looked a lot more pissed off than bug-eyed now. "First of all, I don't know what the hell you thought I was going to say, but I was about to apologize to _you._ Second, 'fragile state'? Seriously? I spent a few days in crazytown--I didn't get pregnant in a romance novel! And thirdly--"

"Crazy _ville,_ " Rodney corrected automatically. "And what the hell are you apologizing to _me_ for?"

"If you'd let me finish one Goddamned sentence…!" John ground out, then sucked in what was obviously a calming breath and put his hands on his hips. " _And thirdly,_ I don't blame you for any of this. Hell, when you were infected with the parasite I did the exact same thing, didn't I? Yeah, I noticed that you seemed more easy-going than normal, but I didn't think it meant anything _bad,_ either." He shrugged with his palms up. "Being happy isn't usually a medical condition."

"Unless you live here, apparently," Rodney muttered. "But that still doesn't explain why you're apologizing."

John rolled his eyes. "Oh, I don't know, Rodney--maybe it's for putting you front row center at my personal headcase show, especially the part where I coerced you into having sex with me."

Rodney blinked and then huffed in annoyance. "So you're saying you got sick on purpose, now? Is that it?" Rodney stuck his hands on his hips as well but then realized he was mirroring John and crossed his arms. "And did you somehow completely miss how I never tried to stop you? Or, you know, how I was actively encouraging everything? What did you think I meant when I apologized for taking advantage of you?"

"I was kind of focused on the 'fragile state'," John said flatly. He frowned in confusion. "How did you take advantage of me?"

"Because you were _mentally ill!_ " Rodney said. "And I should have realized that, instead of assuming that you…" He hesitated, wincing. "That you actually wanted me."

"I do want you!" John exclaimed. "How could you think I didn't?"

Rodney gaped at him. "Um--nearly six years of empirical evidence? Such as you giving me no indication whatsoever?"

John gaped back. "Yes I did! All the time! For five fucking years! And then you God damn fell in love with Jennifer!" John's mouth thinned and he shrugged self-consciously. "It was pretty obvious you weren't interested."

"I was interested! I was extremely interested! I just didn't know!" Rodney said. "You may have noticed I'm a little weak when it comes to subtleties! Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Because there wasn't any point, if you weren't interested," John said. "Why didn't _you_ ever say anything?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Nearly six years of empirical evidence, remember?" He lifted his hands to tick-off on his fingers. "And, because you're in the Air Force. Because of how you made kissy-face with every beautiful Ancient who batted her glowy tentacles at you"--He ignored John's incredulous, 'kissy-face?'--"Because the first time you made a move…Okay, the first time you made a move that I could recognize as such was when you were hopped up on a slime virus."

John frowned again. "Then why did you kiss me back?"

"Because I've been in love with you since you shot me in the leg!" Rodney threw his hands up in exasperation. "And then, out of the blue you suddenly start wanting to play catch, and then kiss me like everything I've ever wanted…and you expect me to not kiss you back? Seriously? What are you, crazy?"

John smirked, and then Rodney realized what he'd said and he smirked too, and then they both started laughing. And then somewhere in the laughing John leaned in and kissed Rodney again, and it was even better than it had been in the rain, because this time Rodney knew for certain that it was real, that John wanted it as much as he did.

"I, uh, feel that, too, you know," John said when they broke apart. His expression was very earnest. "I mean, what you said before. Likewise."

It took Rodney a moment to parse that out, and then he was so happy he had pull John in for another kiss; A very long one. "Don't worry," he said afterwards, "I know you love me."

John grinned wickedly. "Maybe I'm crazy about you."

Rodney snorted. "Maybe you're just crazy, period."

"Hey, Crazyville's got great neighbors," John said, and kissed Rodney again.

END


End file.
